


Alegedly a character study of Elo O'Toreguarde (with hints of Breakwood and Aveskamp)

by DruidX



Series: The Vexations of Elo O'Toreguarde [6]
Category: Titan - The Fighting Fantasy World
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DruidX/pseuds/DruidX
Series: The Vexations of Elo O'Toreguarde [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902259
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

"Aves, I need your help," said a lanky human, sliding into the seat on the other side of the little table, sticky with years of split beer. The elf broke off from where he was lip-locked to a petite human woman.

"What's up Breakwood?" he asked, languidly turning his attention away from his paramour. "Your purse empty and cup need refilling?" A smirk crossed his pale features, as he reached over and gave Breakwood's lap a blatant fondle. "Or perhaps the purse is full, and something else needs emptying?"

"Gerroff, Aveskamp," Breakwood said, removing the elf's hand, annoyance clear on his face. "Gods, you're handsy when you're drunk..." Breakwood glanced around at the pub, the dim light hiding a multitude of sins being committed by the large crowd. Yet no one appeared to be paying them any attention so he turned back.

"I lost O'Toreguarde."

"Well that was careless," Aveskamp said, settling back against the cushioned bench, the woman nuzzling up to him. "I know she's quite tiny, but still..." The elf shrugged, running a hand through the woman's hair. "I heard you fighting earlier. Maybe she's found someone to have angry sex with?"

Breakwood reached over the table and grabbed Aveskamp by the lapels.

"Damnit Crispin, stop thinking with your dick! This is serious." The two men blinked at each other for a moment.

"Well. Since you put it like that," Aveskamp said. He glanced over his shoulder. "Ah... Honey? Could you go tell Jon at the bar I need a mug of the dark stuff?" The woman mumbled something, but got up and sashayed unsteadily away. Breakwood dropped Aveskamp and the elf smoothed his ruffled clothes.

"You're right," Breakwood said. "We had a fight, and she stormed off outside. I gave her a bit too cool off, but now I can't find her."

"And you're sure she's not gone off with some piece of sugar?"

"C'mon Aves. This is Elo we're talking about. She doesn't even flirt. You really think she's suddenly gonna go have a one-nighter?"

"She's not gone back to the barracks?"

"Nope. First thing I checked. No one's seen her. I know she can be a sneaky little shit when she wants, but even she can't slip past the whole bullpen."

"It's a full moon. Perhaps she's gone to the Gardens?"

Breakwood stared at Aveskamp. "It's been pissing down all day, there's naught in that sky but clouds. What's she gonna look at at night anyhow?"

Aveskamp gave a little shrug. "Sometimes one just wants to feel the grass instead of cobbles under their feet."

"Enough," Breakwood snapped, hunched forward. "All I know is my partner is missing, you are the best tracker we got, so you're gonna help me find her." He aimed a scowl at the blond elf, who frowned back, crossing his arms.

"Do not misunderstand me Farren," Aveskamp said, his tone dropping any hint of humour. "O'Toreguarde is just as dear to me as she is you. There was never any question of my assistance. I am merely establishing a baseline from which we can proceed."

A mug of coffee landed on the table between them, and Aveskamp dragged his eyes away from Breakwood to flash a smile at his paramour.

"Alas, my darling. Duty has called. I'll see you tomorrow?" the elf said.

"Sure thing, honey," the woman said and wandered off.


	2. Chapter 2

"What did the gentlemen by the door say?" Aveskamp asked, standing from where he knelt on the wet cobbles, as Breakwood walked back over.

"Not much," Breakwood said, running a hand over his face. "They remember the 'short, angry bird' coming out and abusing the brickwork for a bit. Then they said she took off, cursing, towards the north gate. No word on why."

"This may explain it," Aveskamp said, holding out a small waxed bag, decorated with a stylized scorpion drawing. "I don't know how much Cap Withnail has kept you in-"

" _ Schist _ !" Farren hissed. "Oh that stupid girl!" He twisted away, looking like he was about to pinch the bridge of his nose, arrested the movement and turned back.

"I'll assume that means you know this is product from the Steel Scorpions," Aveskamp said, tucking the bag into a pocket. "How much do you know?"

"I know that the Wizard's Tower has the pressure on Captain Withnail to find these guys. I guess they're unhappy about not getting their cut."

"There's more to it than that," Aveskamp said. "The Scorpions advertise themselves as selling rare spell components, but because they're unregulated and unrestricted, the buyer has no guarantee on what he's getting. It's not just about the money, Breakwood. It's dangerous. People have gotten blown up because of this gang."

Breakwood nodded. "I see. Last time Elo came back from visiting her aunt, she was visibly upset, and you know how hard she tries to hide her feelings." Breakwood scrubbed his face again. "So of course she's going to go after some punk dealing right under her nose.  _ Niek _ !"

"Relax  _ rath _ ," Aveskamp said, "I can find her. Or do you no longer believe I am 'the best tracker you got'?"

"Aves, I don't doubt your skill..."

"Then observe," Aveskamp said, gesturing to the water-slicked street. "Fortunately it hasn't rained in the last hour, so the chunks of wet sawdust from the bar are still here." He started walking off, eyes to the ground. Breakwood followed, flicking a glance to the watching smokers outside the pub, the alleys and the rooftops. 

"Once she took off running," Aveskamp said, "her tread gets heavier, and there's enough mud on the cobbles to leave an impression." He fell silent then, concentrating, as Breakwood trailed on behind. The pair followed O'Toregard's tracks down the road, turning into a small square where they paused while Aveskamp picked up the trail after it petered out under the canopy of the market cross, following it over the street and turning down an alleyway.

"It's a dead end," Breakwood said, looking at the door at the end of the alley, and the twisting iron stairs.

Aveskamp let out a noise of frustration, and turned away. "Check it anyway, I'll see if I can pick up the trail again," he said, and exited the alley.

Only a short time later, Breakwood came out.

"Aves," he said. "She was taken." The elf stood, flicking his battle-braid over a shoulder. He was a grim-faced as Breakwood.

"This is my suspicion as well," he said.

"No, Aves, I know she was taken." Breakwood held up a police batton, with the word 'Diplomacy' scratched into it.

"That's hers?"

"Undoubtedly." Breakwood said. "Just after she got reassigned from Taube to me, Monday decided he and his crowd were gonna be twats. They cornered her, took the truncheon and told her that maybe she'd actually be able to use diplomacy on someone. When I asked if she wanted to replace it she said no. Said maybe one day she'd get to use diplomacy on the racist prick." Breakwood gave a feral smile, pride spilling through the barred teeth. "Joke was on Monday in the end. He got in a situation she rescued him from, by talking down the perp. So, in a way, she did use diplomacy on him - just not in the way any of us thought."

"There's cart ruts in front of the alley. She was taken then," Aveskamp said, turning and looking into the night. "This is an all too familiar feeling..."

"What d'you mean?" Breakwood asked. 

Aveskamp shook his head. "Nothing." He took a breath and turned back. "Alright, let's go over the basics. Who's she pissed off lately? Anyone likely to want to make an example of her? How's she likely to act - will she play it cool, or make it worse?"

Breakwood tucked the batton into the back of his belt and leant against a wall. "Knowing Elo, she's gonna make it worse. Probably won't even have to try. Sometimes, she just opens her mouth and the sky falls.

"As for the rest of it? Well. There's plenty of folk she's pissed off, on both sides of the line. She's a cop, and a good one at that. Too good for the Eighth, sometimes. Thing is, I can't think of anyone recently who'd have motive, means  _ and _ opportunity to pull something like this off. 'Sides, they must-a had her at their mercy to even take her - she wouldn't have otherwise gone so easy as to not leave a bit of blood." Breakwood pulled away from the wall and turned, staring into the alley mouth. "He coulda hidden up the stairs. She runs past, he blocks her exit. They- Hrm. There's not much of a struggle. Musta had her dead to rights. Crossbow, maybe. Wand, even, if he's part of the Scorpions." He turned back. "So why take her?"

"There's only two reasons why a person is kidnapped: Save the murder for later, or leverage," Aveskamp said, looking worried. "The Scorpions must know the Wizard's Tower is getting closer to shutting them down. Breakwood, how widely known is O'Toreguarde's connection to the Heros?"

"In the Eighth?" Breakwood crossed his arms and frowned at the floor. "Most, if not all, of Squad C knows that Dalliance is her Aunt. Maybe half of Squads A and B know too. Probably spread beyond just us." He shook his head. "Doesn't take a genius to work out that if she's got one connection, she's got them all." Breakwood looked up. "You think this is about getting the Grand Magus to back off?"

"It must be," Avskamp said, gesturing from the alley to the wagon ruts. "This was most certainly a set-up."

"For sure. What kind of dumbass deals illegal comps right outside a cop bar?"

"Indeed. We need to call this in Breakwood, or the Grand Magus is going to have a nasty surprise when parts of her niece start showing up at the Tower."

"Not yet Aves. I have to- I'm going to find her before that happens. Give me until dawn?"

Aveskamp gave his fellow officer a long look. "No Farren. I can't do that, but-" he held up a hand, paler than normal in the faint streetlights, "but, I am willing to compromise. These tracks look to be to taking us back within hailing distance of the Scholar. We should call in on the way past, give this information over. Then we may carry on. After all, it will do no one any good if the worst should happen and we take this information to the grave. Agreed?"

Breakwood pulled a face, as if chewing on something bitter, and looked like he might argue.

"Agreed," he said eventually. "Let's go."

Aveskamp nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

After calling back to the Skiving Scholar they walked in silence for a long while. Aveskamp kept his head down and focused on following the tracks, while Breakwood kept an eye out for lairy drunks. While the tracks took them down main thoroughfares, the night was nearly empty as they wound away from the clutch of pubs.

"You reckon we're almost there?" Breakwood asked, as the night stilled around them and a misty rain began to fall again.

"I've no way of telling," Aveskamp said, in a strained by patient tone. He paused, and stood, a hand pressed to his spine.

"What? What is it?" Breakwood said.

"Nothing," the elf said, glaring. "I required a rest. Even for us, three hundred years starts to take a toll on one's bones." Breakwood gave Aveskamp a hard look, then aimed it into the night, his fingers unconsciously reaching for his 'baccy pouch. Aveskamp sighed as he stretched his back, watching rain coalesce on eaves and guttering street lights. The smell of phosphorus reached him, followed by the distinctive grassy-sweet tang of Breakwood's rolled cigarette.

"Tell me about her?" Aveskamp said, his back still to Breakwood.

"Who?"

"O'Toreguarde."

Silence. Then, "How come?"

"You've been closer to her than anyone for the last three months," Aveskamp said. "As you said, she plays her cards close. It would help me with finding her."

"She was took," came the harsh reply from Breakwood. "Ain't like she ran away." The night filled with the scent of more smoke as Breakwood took a hard pull in his roll-up.

"Gods above," Aveskamp murmured to the clouds. "It's like being in an echo chamber." The elf gave one last stretch, and turned back to where the dark-haired human lounged against thin air. "Constable, if I, as the best damn tracker you got, tells you to talk about your partner, then I suggest you do."

"Never gonna live that one down am I?" Breakwood muttered, and took another drag on the rolly. He bent down, stubbing it out on the sole of his boot and tucked the fag-end behind his ear. He spread his hands with a shrug. "Whatcha wanna know then, Aves?"

Aveskamp gave a flick of his head and Breakwood followed as they began walking again.

"Why were you two fighting?" the elf asked.

"I'm lined up for a cage fight tomorrow night. She didn't want me to go. Said it was getting dangerous. That she's sick of finding excuses to give housekeeping for the blood on my sheets." Breakwood twitched his face away and swallowed. "That last time was so bad she went to beg her mother for a healing potion."

"You didn't know about that?"

"No."

"And you said...?"

"She was being paranoid." The human shrugged. "It was just a regular beatdown. No one's made me. My cover's solid. Said she didn't need to get so involved. Next time she oughta just let me be if she hates it that much." Breakwood paused.

"What else," Aveskamp prompted.

"Called her paranoid again." Breakwood stared, tight lipped, at the night for a moment. "Told her she shouldn't care so damn much." Aveskamp stopped and turned back.

"You _niek_ 'd it up," the elf said, flatly.

"Yeah," Breakwood said. "Yeah, I really did."

"She stormed off right after that, yes?"

"Yeah."

"You think this is your fault?"

"How could it not be?" Breakwood asked, spinning his matchbook between two fingers. "If she was less addled with rage... If I hadn't sent her into the night... If I hadn'ta said what I did, maybe she would called me for back-up..."

Aveskamp gave the human a long look. "I shall tell you this one thing, at least: you two were made for each other," he said. The two men stared at each other a moment longer, before Aveskamp turned back to his tracks.

Once more they walked along in silence.

"She loves nights like this," Breakwood said into the silence. "Dunno what it is about 'em, but she loves it."

"She likes the rain?" 

"Could be. Could be she likes the way the light gleams on the cobbles. Could be she likes the cold. Could be she likes the easy damp. Woodlings are half plant right? Stands to reason they'd like the rain."

Aveskamp snorted. "That is a myth, Breakwood."

"How bout I ask her when we get her back?"

After a small silence Aveskamp asked, "Does she have a favourite colour?"

There was a thoughtful pause from Breakwood, and the rustle of tobacco and paper filled the air.

"I guess it's red?" the human said after a while. "She's got this festival dress, same colour as a good apple. She loves the thing. The mug that sits on her desk is red, and she's got this ring, too. Bloodstone I think she said."

"Good. What else? What's her favourite food?"

"Libra, I don't know. I hardly watch her eat do I?"

"She said yours was Isa Combe's Snake Stew."

"When d'she tell you that?" Breakwood shook his head. "Either way, she's wrong. It's spiced apple cake."

Aveskamp snorted. "So tell me what her favourite food is?"

Breakwood took another drag on his fresh cigarette "Curried goat with rice and peas," he said. "Must be. It's the only one she'll actively go out of her way to eat. Usually she's satisfied with the basics, but seems like anytime the Plot Hook gets spices to make it, she finds out and somehow gets a big old bowl."

"Come along Breakwood. I need more than this. Tell me about her," Aveskamp insisted.

"I dunno,  _ rath _ . She ain't picky about a lot of things. She'll take the good stuff along with the bad, drinks ale as well as spirit. She tends to the cheaper though, no matter who's paying. She likes music. You know, she sings, sometimes, in the morning while she's making coffee and thinks I ain't listening." Breakwood took another drag on his rolly. "All sorts of things. Hymns, drinking song, potion-making rhymes - anything she can bring to mind."

Aveskamp stood as they paused in another open junction, and Breakwood leant against a wall. 

"What about before, prior to the Watch?" the elf asked.

Breakwood shook his head, the embers of his rolly tracing paths through the night. "Hardly talks about it. If she does, it's training with the Blade, stupid shit her brothers got up to, the work her Mam does. Nothing about her. Nothing about before the War. It's like her life only started five, six years ago."

"What about degeneracies?"

Breakwood considered the night as he spoke. "She aint got a lot in the way of traditional vices. She drinks some, but never to excess. Definitely no drugs. Says she gotta keep her head clear. Doesn't gamble, doesn't smoke. Can't even call her coffee consumption a vice, since there ain't nothin to chicory - not like that solid stuff the dwarves got. I guess if she's got a vice, it's working too hard with too little help. Caring too much. She sleeps as little as any of us, but unlike the rest she never lets it all hang out. Never works the job out of her system with fighting or fucking. Keeps on keeping on, you know? Sometimes it's like watching a moth get struck on a flame. She's burning herself up, bit by bit." Breakwood took a last drag on his cigarette, dropping the butt and grinding it out. He stared at it for a moment, before bringing his gaze back to Aveskamp. "What if this is the flame that finally consumes her?" he asked.

Aveskamp turned and clasped Breakwood's forearm. "It will not be so,  _ rath _ ," the elf said, green eyes locking onto brown, "because we will bring her back before that happens." Aveskamp dropped Breakwood's arms and gaze, and turned back to the glare at the junction they were in. "Though, it may take a little longer than previously thought..." the elf murmured.

"What d'you mean?" Breakwood asked.

Aveskamp toyed with his battle braid. "There are too many tracks here," he said, with a frustrated sigh. "It's to be expected - Herberg's Fork is a busy area, but without tracks to follow..." He gave a shrug. "Perhaps now might be the time to report in? Extra bodies means extra help."

"Or wasted time, and muddled signals," Breakwood countered. He looked around the junction, eyes lighting on a tiny pile of burning sticks in an alley mouth. "There might be hope yet," he said, flicking his head in the direction of the two homeless huddled around their tiny fire. "Let's see what they know."


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright, this is it," Aveskamp said in a low voice, and the two men slowed as they approached a building. A sign hung from a jib on the front - a white, eight-pointed star-flower on a glaring red board. They paused across the street to observe. It was a tall, hunched looking building with steps leading to the main floor, a little red door tucked away behind the steps.

The homeless couple they'd spoken to said traffic had been slow that evening, with a covered wagon bearing the white star-flower being the only thing of note to pass through in the last few hours. 

"So what's the plan, Aves?" Breakwood said quietly, spinning his matchbook between two fingers. The lanky human had clearly been dying for an anxiety-easing fag since they left the homeless couple, but settled instead for compulsively spinning the matchbook, as the consummate professional never smoked before a sting.

"She could be under the house, but I've also a horrible feeling there's a warehouse attached to the back," Aveskamp said. He twisted the end of his blond battlebraid between two elegant fingers as he thought. "We'll circle around the building, see if we can find a way in. Once inside, I'll go hunting for guards. You find our girl."

"Aye First-Class," Breakwood said. He slid the matchbook back into a pocket, and pulled out a dagger. Aveskamp nodded, a long knife appearing in his own hand, and without a further word, the two men slipped into the shadows around the building


	5. Chapter 5

It was not as dark inside the building as Breakwood had anticipated, and while it gave less shadowy cover, it did mean she was easier to find. As they had planned, once inside Aveskamp had peeled off to trace the outer walls of the warehouse, while Breakwood had struck in deeper. She was almost suspiciously easy to find, sat in a clearing of shelves and crates, but the primal feeling of his gut was overridden in the relieved jumping of his heart at seeing his partner. She was sat, bound to a human-sized chair with more rope than was surely necessary, and gagged. He watched for a moment with concern - her eyes closed, a purpleing bruise on her temple - but she shifted, and he breathed a sigh of relief. There was a desk to one side, as if they had been questioning or guarding her, but no other beings were within ear or eye shot currently. Breakwood skirted around the shelves so he could approach from the rear - he didn't want his partner, either in gratitude or disdain, making a noise at his appearance.

"Hey Bug," Breakwood whispered. "Don't freak out; it's just me."

She made a groggy noise, followed by one of surprise that could have been his name.

"Yeah. It's Farren. Hush now, okay?"

His words had the opposite effect; she moaned in distress, a long staccato 'o, o, o' sound, and struggled against the bonds, trying to move away from him.

"Elo! Quit squiggling, I'm trying to get you out," Breakwood hissed, sawing at the rope. He glanced up to see the small head shaking back and forth. The woodling managed to turn her head, and Breakwood saw they were wide with fear.

"'Un!" O'Toureguarde said. "'Ar'un, 'o! 'et a'ay!"

"Listen Bug," Breakwood said pausing in his fight with the rope, "I know you're still mad about before-"

She let out a squeal of fear, and all at once everything was a tangle of chair and limbs and yelling as she tipped the chair over backwards onto him, the blade skittering away. 

"Gods' damnit, you stupid whore," came a new voice, rough and male, followed by a feminine grunt of pain and the chair was pulled off him. Breakwood rolled and scrambled away as a cudgel filled his vision. He came to his feet, to see a familiar face.

"Well now," said the other man, "if it isn't Micky Stanford. As I live and breathe, you really are a copper."

"Ah,  _ schist _ ," Breakwood muttered, moving backwards, giving himself space to fight. "Evening Ragmar."

" _ Schist _ is right, brother," said the other man. He was well-built, and not much shorter than Breakwood. He shifted the cudgel in his hand. "I didn't believe Gask when he come to me, saying my old pal Micky was a Bent-Out Blue. But he swore up and down you was, so 'Fine,' I says. 'You prove it me, and I'll deal with it'. Cuz there weren't no way I'd be letting a Blue boy run around, knowing what he knows about me and my business. So he bet me a month's wages, set's it up, and now lookie-lookie what's fallen into his little trap, eh? My boy Micky, all up in his Watchman's, chasing after some dumb piece of skirt." The two men shifted their stances, subtly coming closer together.

"Listen Rag," Breakwood said, "it doesn't have to go down like this. Kidnapping and false imprisonment of a Watchman? You'll hang for this. Straight up, no trail."

"Oh yeah? Over some short arse slit?"

A noise of outrage came from chair.

"She ain't just a piece of skirt, Rag," Breakwood said, ignoring O'Toureguarde's protest. "She ain't even some two-bit Watchman. I'm telling you buddy, just let us go. I don't care what the Scorps are paying, it ain't worth your life. Sure as the Pit, it ain't worth what the Grand Magus is gonna do."

O'Toureguarde let out a high, alarmed squawk, repeating in staccato bursts.

"What do I care about them Micky?" Ragmar asked, shifting the cudgel. "What do I care about mages and dealers and some halfling  _ ha'rak _ , when I got you, here, right where I want you?"

"I'm trying to save you a life of hell, brother. Take off, forget about the Scorps. Cuz no matter what you think of them, it ain't shit compared to her Ladyship's wrath when she finds out what you've done to her niece."

Ragmar stopped moving, a heavy silence falling between the two men.

"You what?" the thug said.

A defeated noise that could have been cursing came from the tipped over chair.

A slow grin spread over Ragmar's face. "And here I thought I was just getting bait to catch a rat," he said, as Breakwood's eyes widened in alarm at what he'd done. "What a stroke of luck for me, eh? Not only do I have my rat, but I got me the most valuable copper in the Watch."

Breakwood swallowed, his face setting hard. "Rag, you clean your ears out, and listen to me," he said. "I wasn't fooling when I said you don't want her wrath falling on you. She will kill you, and make it hurt the whole time you're dying."

"I ain't afraid of some slit in a fancy dress," Ragmar said with a dark laugh.

"Brother, you should be. Ain't just the Grand Magus to worry about either. You do anything untoward with me or that girl, and you'll have the Blade on your arse and all. Think careful now Rag. You really want to tangle with dragon killers and demon slayers?"

Ragmar gave that dark chuckle again. "Oh, I ain't gonna do nothing to the skirt," he said. "But you better start worrying about yourself,  _ brother _ , cuz no one's gonna give a  _ das niek  _ what happens to you."

There was a screech from the floor, and the chair bucked violently. Ragmar glanced towards it, as Breakwood dove for him. The two men went over. Breakwood was quick, but Ragmar was stronger, and the lanky Watchman soon found himself pinned by the thug. One solid, meaty fist introduced itself violently to Breakwood's face, with a few follow-ups for good measure.

"Well, that's gotta be embarrassing for you," Ragmar said, standing to leave the bloody mess of a Watchman on the floor. He turned away. "Get him up, boys. The slit too. I want her to see what happens to knights in shining armour."

Men materialized out of the shadows of the shelves, and Breakwood was roughly hauled to his feet. They dragged him over to stand in front of the desk, where Ragmar leant against it, wiping the blood off his hands. O'Toreguarde and her chair were hauled up-right, to sit next to him, in front of the desk. Ragmar grinned down at her, reaching over to pull the gag off.

"You pissing cockstain!" she swore. "Don't you touch him. Don't you dare, you  _ kuspaa _ whoresone! Touch him and I'll  _ niek dau fuunday skafin du _ -" Ragmar backhanded her.

"Shurrup  _ ha'rak _ ," he said. "Playtime's over. It's time to get serious."

"Get sodomized with a rusty nail,  _ felspar kushkon _ !" O'Toreguarde said, spitting blood.

Ragnar laughed. "The mouth on this one, eh, Micky? I see why you like her."

Breakwood coughed and pulled away from one of his captors to wipe his face. "Get bent, Rag," he said, as he was roughly gripped again

"Aww, you sore Micky?" Ragmar said. "All your pretty words gone welched off?"

"Yeah, Micky," O'Toreguarde said, butting in quickly. "Where'd Diplomacy go, eh? Micky Stanford. All your nice words and that Diplomacy. Where did it go? Did you lose it, Micky? Did you lose Diplomacy?" she added, an edge to her words mean only for Breakwood.

"Nah, Bug. I got plenty of Diplomacy," Breakwood said, spitting again. "Ain't gonna waste it on this trumped up bilge rat and his two-a-penny thugs-" In three quick steps, Ragmar crossed the space between them, interrupting Breakwood with a blade to the throat.

"Call me that again, Watchman. I dare you," the thug said, grabbing a fistfull of hair and wrenching Breakwood's head back, exposing his neck.

"Why shouldn't I, jizzrag?" Breakwood asked in a strained voice. "You're gonna kill me anyhow."

"Was gonna do it quick," Ragmar said, moving the blade along Breakwood's jawline, "for old times sake. Now I'm thinking I might take my time. Make the slit watch. Maybe give you brick boots and let you take a stroll along the canal floor."

"No!" O'Toregarde yelled, straining against her bonds again. "No, you leave him alone!" Breakwood managed to look over Ragmar's shoulder, as the other man turned, to see true terror in his little partner's eyes. Her chest heaved as she sucked in air like a drowning woman. "Don't kill him. Don't. Please. Just- I'll, I'll be your payday. Just let him go. Let him walk. I'll cooperate. Anything you need. Just, don't. Gods, please, don't kill him."

"Ah, such touching loyalty," Ragmar said. He turned back to Breakwood. "Too bad she got in bed with you, rat." He drove a fist into Breakwood's gut, and spoke over his shoulder to O'Toreguarde. "That ain't gonna work for me girly. See, I already got you wrapped up, pretty bows and all. And I got my boy here, prime to have his throat slit. You ain't got any cards to play, girly. Ain't no one coming for the pair of you. He works alone, ain't that right Micky? This is the real world, princess, and knights die just as easy as anyone else." Ragmar turned back to Breakwood again. "How about we show her, eh Mick?" 

Ragmar gripped Breakwood's hair again. Pulled the Watchman's head back. Exposed veins and two-day stubble. Raised the knife to stab. Paused as an arrow appeared in his skull. Dropped the blade, and crumpled to the floor.

"Boss?" asked one of Ragmar's goons, letting go of Breakwood. His fellow stood, stupefied by the pooling blood around his hobnail boots. The copper wrenched his grip from nerveless fingers. Brough an elbow into the staring thug's belly, as another arrow went through the head of the questioner. Breakwood pulled Diplomacy from the back of his belt and cracked it over the skull of thug number two, as Aveskamp emerged from the shadows, blade in hand.

"Crispin?" O'Toregarde asked, disbelieving.

"Indeed. Good evening,  _ sá itil _ ," Aveskamp responded politely, as he sliced through her rope.

"Took your sweet sodding time," Breakwood yelled, as he kicked the arse of a retreeting goon.

"My apologies," Aveskamp said dryly, as he deflected a half hearted blow from a fleeting thug. "I became a little distracted."

Without their leader, the remaining thugs had taken a hint, and fled, leaving the three Watchmen alone.

"What now?" O'Torgurage asked, slipping from the chair. "Do we go after them?"

"Nah," Breakwood told her, limping over to where she and Aveskamp stood. "I know most their names. They're outside our precinct anyhow." He knelt down and grabbed at one of her wrists. The smaller Watchman flinched back, eyes flaring wide and breathing heavily. Breakwood held up both his hands.

"Ah... Sorry Bug," he said. "Just wanted to check you out. See you're okay."

"Do it with your eyes, not your hands," she snapped back. "And if I'm okay? I should be the one checking you over. He totaled your face, Brek. You look like you got into a fight with a wall, and the  _ nieking _ wall won."

Breakwood gave a pained chuckle. "Thanks for the compliment."

"I think we've spent enough time in this delightful hell-hole," Aveskamp said. "If you're able to walk O'Toreguarde, we should head back to the barracks. We can pass this over to Watchhouse Seven and-"

"They can't have gotten that far," O'Toreguarde broke in. "I can walk. Hell, I can run if it means we catch those  _ kuspaa _ up."

"No," Aveskamp said, not entirely unkindly. "We're taking you back to the Eighth to get your wounds looked over."

"I don't have any  _ neiking _ wounds! If you're carting anyone back, it's Breakwood. I'm going after those whoressons. Give me Diplomacy."

"O'Toreguarde-" Aveskamp said, frowning, but the woodling rounded on him.

"No. No, Aves. They know who I am. I need to nip this in the bud, or I'll get no ounce of peace. I won't be used as a weapon against my Aunts."

"But you'll be used as bait against me?" Breakwood said, standing. 

"Oh  _ niek _ off," O'Toreguarde told him. "I tried to warn you. I told you to run. None of them had a clue who I was until you blurted it out. I was just some skirt they'd seen hanging out with you at the Scholar. "

"What?" Breakwood asked, shaking his head.

O'Toregaurde gave him a push. "This was all about you Brek. I told you that last beatdown wasn't regular. I  _ told _ you. Gods. You got  _ neiking _ made,  _ rath _ ." She pushed him again. "That ugly out-house was gonna kill you for being a Watchman. I  _ neiking _ told you it was gonna happen. But you didn't believe me, and you walked right up to their door because of me, and  _ neik _ that is some twisted-ass sense of humour Sindla has.  _ Niek _ !" She spun around and hit the chair, dashing hand over her face after.

"You're a  _ ha'rak _ , Constable Breakwood," she said after a while. "Having the nerve to be offended after I get kidnapped, after I get used against you, after I told you you were in danger." She turned back, a hard, blank expression on her features. "Out-house was right; clearly you prefer to be alone. Why else would you keep going off to the Pit, gettin' your skull caved in without me. Why else would you keep pushing me away?"

"Oh, like you're any better?" Breakwood said. "Taking unnecessary risks. Running off alone after a perp? There was a bar filled with coppers and spell-slingers right there for the taking. It's a good thing you and Rag are both wrong, or Aves would't've been here to bail us out."

"Kindly keep me out of this," Aveskamp murmured, from where he had moved to watch the exits as best he could while the two constables argued behind him.

"You don't trust me Breakwood. You won't let me in. You won't let me help," O'Toreguarde said.

"I trust you plenty! I trust you got my back when I need it. Same as I hope this shows I got yours."

"So why don't you listen to me? Huh? I know I'm young, but I have plenty of experience. My gut is just as good as yours." She poked his stomach, and he swiped her hand away.

"Maybe it's the same reason you never talk to me. I don't know a lick about you, girl. Aves asked me what your favourite colour was, and I didn't know. I don't know where you came from, I don't know what you like to eat or drink. Even after all this time, I know Jack All about you. How do I know you got experiences when you don't tell me what they are?"

"Maybe I don't like talking about it! This kidnapping ain't the worst thing I've had-" O'Toregarde closed her mouth with a snap. She swallowed, as Breakwood's expression began to crease. "Don't you pull that face. Don't you  _ neiking  _ dare," the woodling said. "That. That, right there. That expression is why I don't say anything. Same as why you don't talk about your kid, I'd wager."

"How'd you find out about her?" Breakwood asked, looking alarmed.

"I guessed, based on observation and lining the acorns up." O'Topregarde shook her head. "Maybe Cap was right. Maybe we ain't suited to each other. Partners are supposed to complement each other. We're either too similar or too opposite. I haven't worked out which yet."

There was a snort from the corner as Aveskamp turned around. "Oh, no. Let me stop you right there. I can assure you both, you suit each other just fine. Now, if you are quite done, I would appreciate it if we could leave right now." The elf pulled a face. "I don't relish explaining to Lieutenant Jabinzky what we're doing on his turf, with two cooling bodies besides." The elf strode over to the pair of them. "Come. We are going back to the 'House. We are going to turn this debacle over to our superiors, and with our complete cooperation, we are going to let them decide how to liaise with the Seventh to tidy this away, corner-tucks and all."

O'Toreguarde let out a gusty sigh. "Fine," she said, looking to where Breakwood was leaning heavily on the desk, trying hard to make it look casual. "Not that we're done with this conversation, but Brek looks like he's about to tip over anyhow."

"I wasn't the one abducted and roughed up..." Breakwood contended. Aveskamp rolled his eyes, and pulled the human upright, offering physical support.

"I wasn't the one got their face smacked by a sledge-hammer," O'Toreguarde retorted, rescuing Brakwood's knife. "I am fine, by the way."

"You got a bruise, looks like the Plains on your face," Breakwood said as they made their way out.

"But that's all I got. Your nose is plastered on the wrong side of your face, and that  _ kuspaa _ surely broke a rib."

"Well you remember that next time you think of going chasing off on your own..."

Aveskamp grinned as the two partners bickered their way out of the warehouse. They still needed a while to break each other in, the elf thought to himself, but they were well on their way.


End file.
